


THE WIDOWMAKER

by Lothirielswan



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, F/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22516228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothirielswan/pseuds/Lothirielswan
Summary: Mission Report: run. June Jones finds herself on every hit list on the country because of one man: her neighbor. Dark forces are coming for James Buchanan Barnes, determined to wipe out the one sliver of summer from the Winter Soldier.(TAKES PLACE RIGHT AFTER "CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER")
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 11





	1. GUARD DOG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MISSION REPORT: Spy on your neighbors.

—June Jones, Maryland, 2014—

I wasn't anyone important. I wasn't ordinary, either, I guess. I worked as a nurse in the ER division of one of Maryland’s local hospitals. I watched old action movies like _Die Hard_ and _Mission Impossible_ on repeat. I lived alone. 

I was his neighbor. 

He moved in six months after me. The news was flooded with press conferences after the S.H.I.E.L.D helicarriers dropped on Washington, DC. Everyone was in a state of unease. I was fiddling with my keys in my hand, holding a plastic bag full of Japanese takeout in the other. 

I heard footsteps. I glanced down the hallway. 

He wore a lot of layers for the sweltering month of July. Hoodie, jean jacket, even gloves. My eyes kept traveling to his left arm for some reason—something was off about his posture, but I couldn't place it. 

I saw something glint against his dull gloves. It was a key. He stopped at the vacant door next to mine.

“Hi,” I said. 

His head snapped up, startled, like he’d assumed he was untraceable as shadow. His gaze crept to the side at me, slightly turning. His eyes were a vibrant blue-gray, like a sky at unrest. He wouldn't meet my gaze directly. 

“Are you moving in?” I asked.

He nodded once. His chocolate-brown hair crept forward to veil his face. “Yeah...I am.” 

His voice was soft like a whisper. Like it wasn't used often. I clutched my keys in my hand and offered him a small smile. “I guess we’re neighbors. I'm June.” 

He nodded again. “...Bucky.”

My head tilted to the side. “You don't seem too sure.” 

Bucky stiffened. Only then did I notice both hands were held in tight fists.

I carried on, “If you need anything, I'm right next door. I'm a cardiologist, I work at the hospital a couple blocks away. I promise I don't make a lot of noise.” 

Bucky swallowed. I studied him. _He's wearing so many layers—maybe he came from up north. His eyes look black and blue, when was the last time he slept? Toll of traveling? Must be exhausted._

“See you around,” I said as I finally opened the door to my apartment. 

I caught his soft words right before I shut the door. “See you.”

That's how it started. I ran into him in the mornings, when he was going out for his jog and my shift was about to start. He spoke softly, like a librarian or someone who read poetry and could only be heard from a mic. He smiled more. He asked about my day, what I liked and disliked. Later on, I started seeing him when I came home, too.

“Hey,” I winked as I walked up to him. He was by my door, a newspaper folded up underneath his arm. He always wore gloves. I asked about them once. He said his hands got cold easily. 

“Hey,” Bucky offered me a small smile. I’d been around him long enough to know it was genuine, and his version of a grin. 

“How was your day?”

“Stressful. I had to replace someone’s stent…” I looked up at his blank, clueless expression. “Heart stuff.”

“Ah.” Bucky nodded. “Are you still having that Bruce Willis marathon?”

I sighed as I leaned on my doorframe. “I could watch the first _Die Hard_ over and over.”

“I still don't understand how you can watch that,” He said, leaning on the other side of the frame. “Hostages, flying bullets, going barefoot on glass…”

“It's got some funny parts too,” I countered. “It's exciting...and it's much more entertaining than some drama.” 

I took a chance, tightening my grip on the plastic takeout bag. “You’re welcome to come in and watch with me.”

His tempest eyes darkened with something. Bucky glanced down, “Are you sure...that's a good idea?”

I shrugged. “Probably not. We run into each other every day, and...I really like talking to you.” 

My pulse was a rapid tap against my ribcage. It was just a movie. But I didn't think of Bucky as just a neighbor. 

“I really like talking to you, too.” He said, swallowing.

We stood there for a minute, barely two feet between us, the silence stretching on and on. Bucky looked...hesitant. His body language always confused me. There was something there: I used to work as a child abuse investigator, and I learned a few things. Bucky looked too stiff, quick, jerky movements. His eyes darted around too much. He didn't take care of his appearance much, either. His hair was still long and always blocking his face, like a shield.

There was nothing ordinary about Bucky. I wasn't blind: I could see the signs. I had theories: maybe he traveled to escape an abusive relationship, but I didn't bet all my money on that one. He mentioned that he served in the army; maybe it was some intense form of PTSD. Sometimes he really confused me, and I couldn't depict whether he was the victim or...I didn't like to think about that. 

“Maybe some other time,” Bucky offered. 

I looked away to hide my disappointment. I shrugged it off, “Okay. See you later.”

“I'm sorry, June.” 

I glanced back at him. Bucky’s voice sounded grave and full of regret. It was so serious. Like he was apologizing for more than missing a movie and Japanese food. 

It was like a curtain surrounded Bucky at all times. Some sort of barrier that hid the true, deeper meaning. I never peaked inside. Something was there, but I never knew what. 

“It's fine. I’ll see you,” I finally squeezed through the entrance to my apartment. When the door was closed, I leaned on the other side for a minute. 

My cat, Kramer, came up to greet me. He was a calico with splashes of brown and black and white, and meowed in a defiant way as he smelled the Japanese.

“I could have worse neighbors,” I muttered as I slipped off my shoes, following the bossy cat into the kitchen. “I could be Jerry Seinfeld, and have to put up with you and Newman all the time.” 

“ _Mrow_.” 

“Don't give me attitude, cat.” I went straight to the microwave, knowing the Japanese was probably cold by now, and slipped the container in. The rectangle full of rice and steamed vegetables began to rotate.

I leaned on the counter, staring absentmindedly down at Kramer. Like the wild, neurotic character from the nineties sitcom that he was named after, Kramer’s hair stood up at the top of his head, almost like it was fried or styled wrong. If I stared into his black-brown eyes long enough, I could see a hint of hysteria there. 

“What? He's nice. He's polite, he's always respectful, he's incredibly good-looking, in a dark, mysterious way,” I said, describing Bucky. “You could learn a thing or two from him.” 

“ _Mrow_!”

“No, having a tail to swat me with does not give you bonus points,” I muttered. 

When the microwave was done, Kramer jumped from the beeping noise and scrambled down the hallway, like the madman he was named after. I rolled my eyes as I took out my steaming dinner, and began a calm, ordinary evening with the sound of bullets flying and hostages screaming. 

Every now and then I would glance above the television, at the wall neighboring Bucky’s apartment. I never heard very much. One time I heard a shattering noise, but when I asked him about it, Bucky said he accidentally broke a coffee cup. 

I wondered what he was doing now. Bucky told me he was working on a journalism project—it was probably why it was so quiet over there. I turned the television down a few notches. 

I found myself staring at that wall too much. I got up and kept myself busy by getting everything ready for tomorrow. Picked out my clothes, checked my schedule, reviewed the background for the surgeries tomorrow. 

Later on, I finally slipped into the shower. When I turned off the water, I heard music faintly from Bucky’s apartment. He always played forties classics. 

I wrapped myself in a towel and stood before the mirror. I fumbled around the sink, grabbing a toothbrush. I looked up and froze as I saw the shadow behind me. My eyes widened.

I shrieked and threw my toothbrush at Bucky, who barely flinched as it bounced off of him. I snatched a hairbrush next and held it defensively, feeling suddenly cold after the hot shower. 

Bucky held up his hands in surrender. “I'm sorry about this, June—”

“What are you doing in my house?” I shouted. I was loud enough to rouse Kramer, who’s head popped in the cracked door of the bathroom. He snuck inside and rubbed against Bucky’s calf, like the protective guard dog he was.

“Traitor!” I hissed at the cat. 

“Please keep your voice down—” Bucky started. I realized that he was fully dressed now. Gloves, baseball cap, even a backpack. 

I secured my towel and glared, trying to look menacing with wet hair and armed with a hairbrush. “ _Why_? Why are you in my house? I thought you were nice, and respected women—”

“I do!” Bucky politely averted his eyes from my exposed skin.

“Then why did you break into my house like a _creep_?” 

“Because they found me!” He exclaimed. 

My eyes narrowed. I lowered my hairbrush.

Bucky swallowed as he met my eyes. “I'm sorry. I didn't tell you...I’ve done some things, that I didn't want to do, for some horrible people...and they tracked me down.”

If he was expecting a reaction, I didn't give him one. Maybe a little surprise, that my wild theories were correct. “Okay...what does this have to do with me? Why are you in my house, then?” 

Bucky’s eyes lowered to the tile. “Because they’ve heard our conversations...they heard me talking to you...they know I like you. And now they’re coming for you, too.”

A knock at the door cut him off.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hi Awesome Adventurers! Thank you so much for tuning in, we're going to have so much fun with this new novel c: I'm so excited!!
> 
> Deadpool: Wow, I can't believe I get to be the star of two fanfics. I feel so special ^\o/^
> 
> Natasha Romanoff: Author, do we really have to share a story with him?
> 
> Steve Rogers: He doesn't put money in the swear jar :/
> 
> Deadpool: When I win two hundred grand in my life, then I'll pay you off, Captain Sexy Pants.
> 
> Author: So much fun...anyways! We'll have more soon, loves! Love, fortune and glory to you, Awesome Adventurers!!


	2. SUPERMAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MISSION REPORT: Master sneaking out of the house (don't try this at home, kids).

My mouth popped open at the sound of something banging against my door. Without thinking, the hairbrush fell from my grip—

Bucky caught it before it hit the ground, and set it on the table. He leaned close, close enough to nearly drown in his blue-gray eyes. “I am so sorry I dragged you into this. You don't deserve this.”

“What do we do?” I hissed. Bucky slipped through the door without an answer. Kramer looked at me expectantly.

I sighed, securing my bath towel again. I picked up my crazy cat and started after my even nuttier neighbor. 

I found him in my room, one of my bags already pulled out. I caught his gaze for a split second.

“Can you get dressed?” His lips barely moved. 

Without a word, I grabbed a few random pieces of clothing from the pile and went into the other room. When I opened the door, Bucky stood there waiting, offering me an old gym bag. 

“ _Mrow_.” 

Together, we slowly looked down the hall. Kramer’s wild eyes darted between the two of us. I looked back at Bucky. 

“June, it's a bad idea.”

“Please?”

“He's a risk.”

“He’ll _die_ if we leave him!”

“Don't be dramatic. He’ll probably end up at an animal shelter.”

“An animal shelter!” I shook my head at him, eyes narrowed. I picked up Kramer and held him up so Bucky and the cat were eye level. “Look at this face, James. Can you condemn him to an animal shelter? _Can you?”_

I huffed. Kramer squirmed in my grasp. “I didn't wanna say this in front of him, but...he's not cute enough! Nobody is going to take Kramer home.”

Bucky’s eyes darted to me, dubious. I flinched when the door rattled again. 

“You said you liked me,” I mumbled. “The cat and I are a packaged deal. You have to accept us as we are.” 

Bucky sighed silently as he slid off his backpack, took Kramer from my arms, and zipped it up to where only Kramer’s head popped out. He hauled it over his shoulder and nodded down the hallway, towards the window.

“How do you know where everything is in my apartment?” I hissed behind him. 

“It's the same as mine,” He paused. “And don't be mad, but I came in here before.”

“Don't tell me you were Edward Cullen-ing me.” 

“I don't know what that is. I was just checking for bugs, recorders, in case _you_ were after me.” He said. He sounded serious, and despite the situation, Bucky didn't seem like the stalker-whack job type. 

I jumped at the sound of the door being blown off its hinges. I shot Bucky a pleading look when he turned around. 

He rushed to the window and slid the glass pane upwards. Stomps and shouting came from the entrance to my apartment. I was trembling. My blood was singing in my veins. 

Bucky was halfway out the window. “I’ll go first. I’ll catch you.”

I bit my tongue as I resisted the urge to tell him to be careful with Kramer. I sealed my lips and nodded. I didn't know what my facial expression revealed, but my skin felt cold, like all life had left my body. 

Bucky swung his legs over. I panicked as he fell from sight. 

I rushed to the window and leaned out. We were a few stories up. December air blew cold kisses on my cheeks. 

Bucky landed on the fire escape, arms out, waiting for me. Kramer’s head was popping out over his shoulder, awed at the world outside my apartment.

“June!” 

I lifted myself up to the window frame, ignoring the other ways I could fall. I could tumble off the side of the building to my death. I could slip through Bucky’s fingers and go _splat_ on the ground. Not many cheerful alternatives.

Against all common sense, I hefted one leg over.

I froze when noise bounced off the walls of the hallway. Two masked guards appeared at the end of the corridor, dressed in black like heavy-set chess pieces. I felt my eyes bulge at the size of their huge firearms, and froze as the long barrels pointed at me. 

“Stay where you are!”

“Don't move!”

I ignored my instincts, and let gravity tip me over.

I bit down hard on my lip as I fell. It didn't last long, but my stomach was a jumbled mess when I was airborne. 

Bucky’s arms hugged me close to his chest.

“I got you,” He murmured, setting me back on my feet. The night was icy, and elicited a wisp of steam from Bucky’s lips. “Hold on.” 

With one arm around my waist, he rushed to the edge of the fire escape. I heard a strange shrieking sound when a bullet ricocheted off the thin metal bars around us. It took me a minute to realize it was me. 

Bucky’s arm tightened around me as his hand wrapped around one of the metal poles. The air rushed around us again, my body lurching from the sensation, as Bucky took the fast way down three stories. Little bits of gold continued to rain, followed by the inhuman sounds of guns releasing bullets. 

We landed behind a row of bushes. Bucky ducked down, pulling me with him, as he skirted the edge of the parking lot. 

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I am so sorry…” He muttered apologies like a chant. I was shocked he managed the words without running out of breath.

I felt bad for him. It wasn't his fault—it wasn't his intention, at least. I didn't hold him entirely responsible; the past was a manner of circumstance. It wasn't something anyone chose. It seemed like Bucky didn't have the greatest luck in the past. 

I finally cut off his series of sorries. “It's not so bad—I’ve had worse first dates. This is kind of exciting. It's been awhile since I did this much aerobic exercise, this is actually very beneficial.” 

Bucky groaned. “I think I prefer when you threw a toothbrush at me.”

“Oh, crap! I forgot a toothbrush.” 

“That's what you're worried about right now?”

“Dental hygiene is a very serious matter,” I argued curtly.

We stopped at a random car at the edge of the parking lot. Bucky ushered me behind him as his arm shot through the driver’s window. I peeked over his shoulder, petting Kramer’s head as he shook off the glass and leaned across the seat. 

“It's open. Get inside, please.” 

I rushed to the other side of the car as Bucky fiddled with wires beneath the steering wheel. I settled into the passenger’s seat, set the gym bag at my feet, and wiped the glass off of his side. 

“Is your arm okay?” I asked warily, studying his left arm for any signs of blood from the glass shards. 

“Don't worry about the glass,” He said. 

I sat up a little straighter in my seat. “Look, you may have blue eyes and dark hair and look really handsome, but you're not Superman.” 

The car came to life and Bucky climbed into the driver’s seat next to me. He shot me a small smile that vanished quickly. “No, I'm not. I'm far from that.” 

He glanced behind us as he backed out of the parking space, and flew past the desolate cars at a fast pace. Bucky ignored the stop signs as he navigated a few back roads. 

“Put on your seat belt,” He finally said. 

“Put on yours,” I insisted, but I did as I was told and pulled the black strap over my shoulder. “And I'm looking at that arm.”

“I wouldn't worry about it,” He mumbled.

I leaned over into the backseat where his backpack was, and unzipped Kramer. I pulled him into my lap. He nuzzled against my hand. 

“The adrenaline’s wearing off now,” Bucky said in the dimly lit confines of the car. “Do you think you were shot?” 

I frowned. Bucky had been my human shield throughout our entire escape. I didn't feel any pain. My feet were sore from running, and my lungs raw from the icy air, but no wounds. 

“I don't think so,” I said. “Thanks for letting me bring Kramer.” 

I caught Bucky’s faint shrug from the streetlights as we pulled onto the interstate. “Thank you for not hating me—not yet, at least.”

I frowned. As Kramer settled below by my feet, I pulled my knees to my chest. “Why would I hate you?” 

“You have many reasons.” He said. “I broke into your apartment—twice. I'm also the reason why those thugs broke in. And now you're on the run.”

“To be fair, my life was pretty dull before I met you.”

“Maybe it was better off that way.”

“I'm more interested in you.” I turned my body towards him, assessing him in the dark. The dash casted Bucky in a red-and-blue glow, like fire and ice. 

“That may not be a good idea,” Bucky replied, glancing over at me. 

“Well, we’re kinda in this together now, so.” My head leaned to the side, against my seat. “You said you did some bad things...if it's okay to ask...what kinds of things?” 

I couldn't read his facial expression in the dark, but his body went still. “Ever heard of Hydra?” 

“From mythology, or that shady organization that sided with the Nazis during World War two?” 

Bucky paused. “The second one.” 

“What about them?” 

I heard his breath quicken. His knuckles tightened on the wheel. “I...did things for them. But that wasn't me—I didn't have a choice.”

“Then _who_ are _you_?” 

Bucky glanced at his lap. His voice cracked when he spoke, “I don't know.” 

I suddenly remembered the journalism project Bucky had been working on. And the news from six months ago, covering the helicarrier devastation down in Washington—right around when Bucky moved in next door. 

“Can I be honest with you?” I said. 

I heard a rumble in Bucky’s chest, the closest he came to a laugh. “You’d be the first.”

“Everything that’s happened...all the little puzzle pieces...it makes you look like the bad guy.” I admitted. “But I don't believe that.” 

Bucky’s head snapped quickly in my direction. My eyes widened, glancing in front of us. “The road, Bucky—”

“June, I am not a good person. I probably put your name at the top of every hit list in the country!” 

“Not on purpose! And a bad person wouldn't have saved me from my apartment before—” I shivered as I remembered the long barrels pointed at me. “—the others got there.” 

The car went silent again. Kramer popped back up from his spot, to the tip of my seat. He jumped across the tiny wedge between our seats and into Bucky’s lap. Kramer started to purr. 

“I'm the one that put you in danger, too.” Bucky said quietly. His words didn't have as much influence with Kramer rubbing his face against Bucky’s arms. 

I faced the windshield for a while. Little snow flurries started to flutter in the night and gathered around the hood of the car. I started to play with the radio, finding a station that played forties music. I glanced at Bucky for any reaction. 

“I always worried that I played music too loud,” He mumbled, reaching down to pet Kramer. 

I smiled a little. “It kinda grew on me.” 

It was freezing in the car, but I felt strangely warm. Maybe it was the linger of adrenaline.

“Where are we going?” I asked. 

“Not sure. I don't have very many friends to turn to,” Bucky said. 

“I have a brother in Chicago. He's a lawyer.” 

“That's the one with a black belt, right?”

“Third degree, yeah. He just got married last year. Ariana seems...nice.” 

Bucky mulled it over for a minute. “I don't want to drag your family into this, June.”

“Lucky for you, I'm adopted.” I reminded him. “And I live alone. My family’s pretty spread out.” 

“That won't stop Hydra from trying to use them,” Bucky warned me. “Those are targets, plus anyone else you know...I think we need backup.” 

“What kind of backup?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Does anybody remember that scene in "X-Men: Apocalypse" in the classroom where they're learn about mutants in history? Could you imagine learning about the Sokovia Accords?
> 
> Ned: Uh, yeah, we kinda can, Ms. Author. 
> 
> Peter Parker: They made us choose sides in class and debate—I didn't like it very much. I don't like disagreeing with somebody. 
> 
> Bucky Barnes: WELL GEE
> 
> Sam Wilson: YOU MUST LOVE DISAPPOINTMENT
> 
> Bucky Barnes: AND JUICE BOXES
> 
> Sam Wilson: AND HARASSING OLD GRANDPAS
> 
> Natasha Romanoff: Holy crap he really is turning into Tony.
> 
> Carol Danvers: It's time to send that kid off to daycare. Love, fortune and glory to you, Awesome Adventurers!!
> 
> Author: She said my line!! c,:


	3. VILLAIN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MISSION REPORT: Initiate operation "Group Hug".

“This is nice,” I mused, blowing on a coffee cup as I stared across the table at Bucky. Morning light filled the tiny diner. It looked so calm, so quaint...it made last night’s light show seem like a dream. 

He shrugged. My eyes narrowed. Something about his left arm...it rubbed me the wrong way. 

_“Mrow,_ ” Kramer’s paw escaped my old gym bag and rattled my plate. I shushed him, and slipped a small piece of bacon into the opening. 

“You had to bring him in?” Bucky asked. 

“It's too cold in the car,” I told him, resting my chin on my elevated fingers. 

A shadow fell over me. 

“Is everything okay over here?” The waiter glanced between the two of us.

I nodded and smiled, “It's great, thanks.” 

He beamed at me. “Enjoy your date.” 

_Date?_ My head tilted to the side as he walked off. I looked back to Bucky. That's probably what it looked like. Everyone accepted things as they appeared. I envied their simplicity.

“So who’s this friend of yours?” I stared down at the caramel-colored liquid of my coffee. 

“We’ve...run in the same circles. In the past.” Bucky’s eyes kept darting around the restaurant. He never seemed to relax. 

“Do you mind putting this on? They’re looking for your face, too,” Bucky flipped off his plum-colored baseball cap and offered it to me. 

I tacked it on. His small smile returned.

“What?” 

“You look...like a fine dane.” He frowned at the words. 

I bit my lip to silence any laughter. “A _fine dane_?” 

Bucky shifted in the booth. “Sorry...it's been awhile since I've used that line. On anyone.” 

“It's a _good_ line.” 

“You think so?”

“Yeah. A little cheesy, but girls like that,” I replied. 

Suddenly the sound of heels carried on the tile. I spotted the pair of boots responsible for the noise. I froze when I saw her face.

“I wish Steve had your enthusiasm for the dating world,” Natasha Romanoff stood before our table, tossing a wink at Bucky.

I was speechless at first. Her skin was fine porcelain, like marble, or the fine white thread of a spider web. Her crimson curls clashed like blood in the snow. Everything about her was striking. 

She motioned for Bucky to scoot and sat down with us. She smirked at me. 

“I'm June,” I choked out the words as I coped with my awe. “I...already know who you are.” 

“Hi, June. She’s pretty, where’d you find her?”

“She’s my neighbor.”

“Huh.” Natasha leaned back against the old fashioned white-blue design of the cushions. “So you need a place to crash. Avengers Tower is open.”

My eyes popped out of their sockets. The offer was so casual, so genuine. Bullets were easier to get used to than Bucky’s high-class friends. 

“I don't really have a good reputation with Starks, Natasha.” 

“He doesn't know. And it wasn't your fault.”

Bucky shook his head. “Doesn't change what happened.”

Natasha’s fingers tap-danced across the slightly sticky surface of the table as she thought. “Maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. could help you out.”

“You’re joking, right?” 

“No. Your name is on the Wall of Valor at every S.H.I.E.L.D. facility.” Natasha said. “But Fury’s still upset that you blew up his car…”

I shot Bucky a confused look.

“It was an accident,” He mumbled. “Sort of.” 

Natasha’s widened eyes said otherwise. “Let’s see...we have tons of safe houses all over New York. You could stay in one of those until you get a grip on things.” 

Bucky contemplated. I watched his unmoving facial expression when he was silent; he always had a serious look on his face. I was shocked at how little his face revealed, like he was encased in plaster for years. 

Eventually his gaze wandered to me. “What do you think?”

I froze. “You're asking me?”

“It's your decision, too,” He said. 

I thought about it. I wasn't really the expert; the only time I tried to hide from somebody was when I moved away from my extremely manipulative mother. But hiding from agents of an evil nazi organization…that seemed slightly more intense than mom—well, that woman could be the scourge of Germany—okay, I didn't have the time for this debate. 

Hmm...New York was notorious for its busy streets and traffic from hell. It was a hub of activity. Easy to blend in. But Hydra could be around every corner…

“Is it safe?” I asked, feeling dumb. 

Natasha answered, “Bullet-proof windows. Steel locks...I wouldn't choose it as a long-term plan, but it's a start.” 

“Pet friendly?” 

“I think Bucky will be comfortable,” Natasha smirked.

“Nat, come on.” 

“What kind of pet is it? Is it a dog—? Who’s the little cutie?”

I glanced around the diner to make sure the waiter was occupied, then I unzipped my bag and Kramer’s wide eyes fell on Natasha.

The deadly assassin gasped. “Aww, it's a kitty! Can I hold him?”

I hoisted Kramer over the counter and into the Avenger’s awaiting arms. Natasha squished him into a hug. “What's Mr. Kitty’s name?”

“Kramer.”

“Like _Seinfeld_? Aww, he is just the cutest—you can even see the insanity in his eyes. Just like the character, that is adorable.”

Bucky shook his head silently. 

Natasha juggled the cat as she pulled out a key. “Here—oh, what if I joined you guys and we could have a big road trip? I'm not ready to part with Mr. Kramer.” 

Bucky turned in his seat and squinted at Natasha, innocently cuddling with the cat. “What’s your angle?” 

Natasha’s eyes widened like a doll’s, childlike and naive. “Angle? Why, whatever are you referring to, Mr. Barnes?” 

“Why do you want to travel with us to New York?” 

“Because I like this cat, and I want to make sure that he and his super nice owner make it to their destination safely.” 

“Uhuh.” 

“I miss our old adventures—this could be our way of catching up. Did I ever tell you about Budapest?” 

“Budapest? What's Budapest?” I piped up. 

Both glanced at me. “Don't ask,” Bucky said. 

Natasha petted Kramer dramatically with an amused smile, looking like a villain who had outsmarted the hero. “You said you needed help. So, let me help you.”

“Yeah, the last time you tried to “help” someone, Barton ended up stuck in the vents or some weird crap.”

“This has nothing to do with Barton—well, not just Barton.”

“ _Just_ Barton?”

The little bell at the door rang. Three people in hoodies and baseball caps walked across the room and stopped before our table. 

Sam Wilson. Steve Rogers. Some random person with resting murder face.

My head tilted to the side. “Why are all of you wearing caps and hoodies?”

Resting-Murder-Face shrugged. “Incognito.” 

Steve was busy staring at Bucky, the way I usually stared at the ice cream in the freezer. “Hey, Buck.”

Bucky groaned and laid his head on the sticky table. Sam Wilson noticed me and winked. “Hey, how you doin’? I'm—” 

“Sam Wilson.” I answered for him, shaking the hand he offered to me. “Sorry—I heard about you on the news, what you did at D.C. You’re amazing.”

Sam beamed, his pearl-white teeth flashing. “I'm nobody special. Well, _he's_ special—” Sam nudged his chin at Bucky, “—if you know what I mean.”

Sam and I laughed. Bucky scowled at both of us. I looked over at the guy with the angry expression. “Who’s this?”

Resting-Murder-Face turned his glare upon me. “You're kidding.”

“Why would I be kidding?”

“Clint? Clint Barton? Hawkeye?” He threw unfamiliar names at me. I just stared blankly.

Clint’s expression became slightly more murderous. “Arrow-guy? Best archer ever? Am I ringing any bells?” 

“No, sorry. I've never heard of you.” 

“Well, I’ll have you know, missy, that I’m one of the founding members of the Avengers.”

“Okay…”

“Remember that New York invasion? The aliens? I killed twelve of ‘em. You're welcome.”

“Oh...thanks.” 

“And you’re welcome.”

“...You said that.” 

“Clint.” Steve silenced him with a look. I couldn't get over Steve’s blond hair. It was just so...perfect-looking. Like it was styled with buckets of gel, yet it looked completely natural. 

Bucky sighed. “You shouldn't be here. _None_ of you.”

I ignored how much it stung when he said that. I leaned back in my seat, crossing my arms.

“June, I am truly sorry for ruining your life. I can never make up for that,” He said. I was shaking my head throughout the entire speech. 

“What life? I lived _alone_ , with my crazy cat, and cut people open for a living.” I remarked. 

“Excuse me for asking, but what’s your profession again?” Steve asked politely.

“Cardiologist,” Natasha answered for me.

I blinked, trying to remember when I told her. “I don't think I told you that.”

“No, you didn't. Also, you were born on Long Island. Adopted, right?”

My arms tightened around my chest. “We just met, like, five minutes ago.”

“And now she knows your life story. That's Nat,” Clint concluded. 

“If your true objective is to keep June safe, it would be easier with us on board,” Steve replied, ducking his head as the waiter passed by. Natasha hid the cat inside her leather jacket whenever someone looked over. 

Bucky looked over at me. This time, there was a change in his face. His eyes tightened. He bit down on his lip. 

“Fine. We’re going to New York. All of us.”

“Yay! Can we stop by Pet Supermarket and get this little cutie a tie? Or one of those mini-sweaters!”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa: I hear you like cats, Ms. Jones.
> 
> June: From what I hear, you really know how to purrsuade someone, King of Wakanda :3
> 
> Clint Barton: ...
> 
> Clint Barton: Does this woman know EVERYONE ELSE but me??
> 
> Tony Stark: Yeah yeah, Barton, it sounds like real bird calls. But let's get to the real problem here: ME
> 
> Steve Rogers: Isn't that every problem?
> 
> Tony Stark: Author! As one of your producers, I have a request.
> 
> Author: Mmm...I take it this has something to do with cameos?
> 
> Tony Stark: Yes.
> 
> Author: No can do, pikachu. 
> 
> Tony Stark: No pikachu?
> 
> Author: No pikachu.
> 
> Thor: DID SOMEONE SUMMON THE MIGHTY THOR?
> 
> Author: Sorry, sweet energizer bunny of doom! 
> 
> Tony Stark: Oh, come on! You gave Thor his own book with a Tiny Texan for a love interest. And Deadpool gets to be in BOTH of them. Pikachu wants in.
> 
> Author: FINE. You get a cameo. Possibly more, depending on plots and whatnots. As for you Awesome Adventurers, I am deeply sorry for the irregular posting of chapters lately! School work is not as fun as assassins cuddling with kittens. We'll try to work on that, I promise—usually chapters are up on Fridays, but we're doing this Thursday night because I like to spoil you guys. So have lots of love this lovely Valentines day, with some fortune and glory too!


	4. SAFE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MISSION REPORT: Use blinkers while switching lanes in traffic.

We abandoned our stolen “borrowed” car and everyone piled into Clint’s minivan. I slid into the middle row, frowning at random items scattered around the van: a soccer ball, tennis rackets—arrows, sharp points and all. 

“When was the last time you did some spring cleaning up in here, man?” Sam remarked as he eased into the front row of seats, next to Natasha in shotgun. 

“I’ll get it washed before I send it back to Laura,” Clint said, settling behind the wheel. 

Bucky and Steve entered my row, leaving me squished between the two giants of men. I was suddenly relieved for the upgrade of Clint’s minivan; I couldn't imagine trying to fit into the tiny car we’d abducted. 

Steve turned to look over my head, right at Bucky. “Bucky...we need to talk.” 

Kramer escaped his bag and found his way into Bucky’s lap. Bucky’s left arm felt strangely cool against mine, even with the layers he wore. 

“I'm not dragging you deeper into this,” Bucky said.

“You already dragged me when you pulled me from the river, Jerk.”

“Punk,” The response was immediate. It made Bucky frown. 

Steve glanced down at me, then at my neighbor. “How much does she know?” 

“ _She’s_ sitting right here, Punk.” 

“... _This_ is the woman for you,” Steve pointed at me with a reassured look. 

Everyone jerked as the minivan took off. Country music started playing from the radio. Natasha and Sam fought with Clint over picking a different station. 

“Let’s listen to something funky.” 

“Holy—is this an actual burned CD of bird calls?” 

“Put it down, Wilson. You’re not ready for it yet.”

Bucky glanced my way, his eyes almost solemn. “I'm sorry, June. There’s still a lot that I haven’t told you.”

“Should I just do this the quick-and-easy way and ask Natasha the Encyclopedia?” I said. “I'm sure she can bring me up to speed.” 

Natasha glanced back at our row. “Oh—I brought some case files to read for fun. It's one of my fave pasttimes—here, take one. They’re so much more interesting than reading _Vogue_.” 

Bucky made a face at the packet of vanilla files Natasha was suddenly holding up. “Nat...that's not...light reading.”

Natasha studied him for a minute, her perfectly flawless features blank, meanwhile her gray eyes darted back and forth like twin cyclones. 

“Right.” She finally said, in a sadder tone than before. Natasha lowered the hand holding the folders. She spared me an apologetic look, “I'm sorry. I'm not saying no...just not right now.” 

I hardly knew Natasha, yet when she was upset, I felt my own heart soften for her. I turned to Bucky, “What does that mean? What just happened?” 

“You have a right to know,” Bucky replied. “but the truth...it's not…”

“It's dark.” Steve murmured. 

I pondered their weird reactions for a while. Then it hit me. “Oh.” 

Kramer heard my voice and his head perked up from Bucky’s lap. I started to scratch underneath his chin, and thought about cats and Japanese food and Bruce Willis.

—*—

We reached Pennsylvania in no time, and I looked out the window at the old-timey streets of Philly. 

“Okay, what's the sign for bird?” Sam asked Clint. 

“I can't sign while driving, that's dangerous,” Clint remarked.

The back of Natasha’s head tilted, and I knew she was rolling her eyes. “Oh please, you do it all the time. It's like this, you put your thumb and index finger to your mouth—it’s facing out like a beak.”

“What about the sign for falcon?”

“There’s no designated sign for falcon. Just fingerspell it.” ******

Bucky was still stoic and silent during the trip. Every now and then, I looked over and shot him a smile. He returned the gesture, which I thought was a good sign. Kramer purred loudly from Bucky’s lap, hitting me with his tail in the process (I'm pretty sure it was out of spite).

“I got Bucky arrested once,” Steve recalled, leaning back in his seat with an amused smirk on his lips.

“How?” I asked. I was already smiling.

“Bucky loved museums—he liked the tech extravaganzas, the Stark specials.” Steve said. “So Howard Stark was in town at the time…”

“Wait, isn't Howard Stark dead? Like, for over twenty years?” My face scrunched up as I tried to remember history classes. 

“You're sitting in the back with two old grandpas, June,” Natasha called from the front. “Steve’s a hundred years old.”

That wasn't what shocked me. I looked up at Bucky, “How old are you…?”

Bucky stared forward for a minute. His head started to dip to the side. Steve answered for him, “Ninety-seven. I'm a year older.”

“Ninety- _seven_?”

“A year _older_?” 

Both of us looked in outrage at Steve.

Bucky waved up a finger. “Let’s hold our horses, pal. Because I remember when I had my first drink, and you were there, and you were underage, and you vomited all over me.” 

I leaned back into Bucky. “You remember your first drink, but not how old you are?” 

“... _That's_ what you're concerned about?” 

“You mean the age thing?” I spoke to him out of the corner of my mouth.

“Yes, the _age thing_!” When he hissed, his hot breath tickled the side of my neck, making me full of jitters. 

“Kramer’s three years old and that's practically forty in human years.”

“That doesn't really apply here, June.”

“Sure it does—I believe in human-cat equality. They run the world already, it's just more about spreading awareness now.”

Clint was chuckling. I didn't know if it was about what I said until I heard him mutter, “Human-cat equality...it’s like Stark on speedial…”

I turned and finally looked at Bucky. He was shaking his head, rubbing at his temples. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“But in a good way, right?” 

“In a _very_ good way,” The words came out before Bucky could stop them. Sam and Natasha made that stupid “oooooo” sound like five year-olds in the front seat. Steve wiggled his eyebrows. Clint just said, “This is a _family_ van. Let’s keep this PG-13, people.” 

I averted my gaze to the floor, where a bunch of sporting equipment lay. The tennis rackets looked new. I played tennis all through high school, still did on weekends—or, used to, anyway. I was good; good enough to the point where my dad had to sit me down and tell me to stop beating my dates. I never did. 

I wondered if I would ever play tennis again. It was a stupid thought, that lead to others: would I ever have Japanese food again? Was takeout food completely gone forever—? What about going to the movies?

I tried to ignore those unnerving questions and asked a different one. “How are you ninety-seven?”

Bucky opened his mouth to answer—

“Shit!” Clint cursed as his minivan swerved. “That moron on the red scooter just cut me off!” 

Clint squinted ahead at the red dot in the lane in front of us. “Wait a minute...Nat, Nat! Is that the guy—? Remember, the guy that Fury had a meeting about and handed out those whistles?” 

The clicking sound of Natasha loading a gun was the answer. “That's the guy.” 

When Natasha armed herself, it almost seemed like a signal to everyone else: Steve set his shield in his lap, Clint gripped the steering wheel, and Bucky’s arm came across me protectively. 

“What is his name? Deadpie? Deadtool?” 

“He drives like a deadtool,” Sam muttered.

“ _Deadpool_ ,” Natasha corrected them. “and he's got company.”

For the second time since last night, bullets assaulted the air and shattered the glass. Clint pulled off on the sidewalk.

“Why the hell are you signaling, man?”

“We have two people over ninety in the car, it's called driving responsibly!” 

“THIS IS NEW FREAKING YORK. NOBODY DRIVES RESPONSIBLY.”

“IT'S PHILLY, SAM.”

“SHOULD’VE JUST HAD STEVE YELL ‘ON YOUR LEFT’ INSTEAD OF A DAMN BLINKER.”

“WELL GUESS WHAT? I’M FLIPPING YOU THE OTHER BIRD SIGN ON YOUR LEFT O’CLOCK.”

Clint pulled out the keys and nodded to Natasha. His yelling voice evaporated when he faced her, “You think Mr. Pool’s on our side?” 

My eyes widened at the back of her head. “Hell no. But he’s a fanboy, so we might be spared.” 

The front row emptied as the sound of more gunshots followed. Steve propped open his door and looked at me and Bucky, “I have to go out there, Mr. Pool has a...reputation.”

“Go!” Bucky waved him off.

Steve took a deep breath and ran down the road. 

I looked over at Bucky. “You have to go help him.”

I really didn't want him to leave—I could imagine the chances of my survival dwindling down like a thermometer in cold weather. But I didn't want Captain America to die because of me. That would be very unpatriotic. 

“Your safety is my first priority,” Bucky remarked. My chest rose and fell quickly, like I was ready to combust. I didn't know if it was because of the bullets, or Bucky’s extreme closeness, or both.

“You’ve known Steve for a literal century. We’ve known each other for, like, barely a year,” My voice was a hoarse whisper, unaware and cautious of whatever was outside. 

Bucky shook his head, “Steve can handle himself.”

My eyebrow rose. “He got you arrested.”

“Your point?”

“My point is that he needs help. That guy has some serious issues.” 

The windshield cracked open. Bucky’s arm shielded my face, and I heard the bullet splatter down somewhere. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood. 

I looked back at Bucky. “I'm not going to leave the car, I'm not a complete idiot. And I have my cat—he’s great at repelling people.” 

Bucky sighed, and stared at me almost as if he were contemplating. I tried not to flinch too much when I heard screams somewhere out there. 

“Please be safe,” His fingers grasped the door handle. Bucky lingered for a moment. Hesitantly, he tucked one of my loose bangs behind my ear. His tone was soft, “Don't do anything stupid until I get back.”

His gloved fingers grazed my cheek. Electricity ran through my veins.

“Consider me warned,” I said shakily. 

Bucky pulled away. The door let out a click.

I remembered something. My hands went to his cap on my head, “Wait! Somebody might see you, put this back on.” 

I held out the plum-colored hat. Bucky shook his head. “Nah. It looks better on you.”

He shut the door behind him as he entered the hellish swarm of bullets.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker: Ms. Mama Spider? How do you fill out a restraining order?
> 
> Scott Lang: Mama Spider???
> 
> Natasha Romanoff: It's our thing. Why do you ask, Baby Recluse? 
> 
> Peter Parker: I'm pretty sure that guy on the scooter is stalking me. He leaves notes for me on rooftops, one time I ran into him at the laundry mat, and some of my clothes were missing.
> 
> Scott Lang: Hold up here: I'm part of the bug crew too. Where's my nickname? 
> 
> Natasha Romanoff: Hmm. Don't worry about it, Peter. I'll...take care of it. 
> 
> Peter Parker: J-just out of curiosity, what exactly does "take care of it" mean?
> 
> Bucky Barnes: It's the same thing that Wanda does with a jar of Nutella.
> 
> Peter Parker: Oh. WAIT A MINUTE—
> 
> Natasha Romanoff: Love, fortune and glory to you, Awesome Adventurers!! ;)
> 
> Deadpool, somewhere off in the distance: MUEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH
> 
> **Author: Sorry for leaving those two little thingies up there! This small section of dialogue refers to American Sign Language (because Clint is hearing-impaired). I'm actually taking my second round of ASL right now, and this is the actual sign for bird. Also, while ASL is a very visual language, the Deaf community has their own alphabet that they can sign with their hands (it's good for clarity). Just thought it would be a cool little thing to add c: if you're curious about signs, there's a website called signingsavvy.com that has thousands of tutorials for different signs! Love, fortune and glory to you!!


	5. LICORICE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MISSION REPORT: Do not trust cats.

I counted all the _Die Hard_ movies in my head over and over as I sat in a tense, uncomfortable position on the edge of the carseat. I’d snatched up one of the tennis rackets lying around and gripped it tightly. 

_Okay, there’s the first_ Die Hard _where Bruce Willis had hair. Then there’s the second_ Die Hard _in the airport. The third one has Samuel L. Jackson in it—_

“ _Mrow_.”

My head snapped up. I looked over at my cat, Kramer, who was on Steve’s empty side of the car. My jaw dropped as I watched him. 

Kramer wasn't like other cats, who had some sense of judgement, and a severe fear of cucumbers: Kramer was full of pure stupidity. Any other normal feline companion would probably curl up, terrified, and hide somewhere in a gunfight—

But not Kramer.

“Kramer, come here, baby,” My breath came out a hiss, still scared sick that someone would hear me. “Here kitty—come on, little man.”

Kramer was inching towards Steve’s car door that was gaping wide open. I resorted to name calling. “Don't you dare, you stupid cat! You are not going anywhere—little hellspawn do not go out there—DAMN YOU, CAT FROM HELL!”

Kramer jumped out of the van and onto the sidewalk. 

My eyes widened. In a split second that felt like an eternity, I had a silent argument with myself. Was I willing to sacrifice myself for the cat? It would be a really humiliating death. I could see the headlines now, ‘ _CRAZY CAT LADY DIES FOR MEMBER OF CAT KIND. CAT UP FOR ADOPTION.’_

But wasn't it really bad luck if I let Kramer die? I would never forget that cat; I was sure that I’d live with nightmares for the rest of my life, reliving the movie _Pet Sematary_. 

I muttered curses as I squeezed the handle of the tennis racket and scooted across the car seat. My sneakers landed on the sidewalk. Kramer flinched and ran off like a mental hospital patient. 

I peeked out behind Steve’s open car door. Farther down the block, I saw Nat’s bright orange curls as she ushered civilians away. Steve was there, too; I didn't see Bucky, Sam, or Clint. That worried me.

I glanced back in the direction Kramer had gone down the other side of the road. Clutching my tennis racket, I followed him. 

I froze as I reached the end of the van. Two people fell onto the asphalt in front of me in a heap of limbs.

“Hey, I recognize your cologne! Douche: repels mosquitoes _and_ women. WHERE IS FRANCIS?”

A man dressed in black had someone else in a headlock. He wore a red and black suit that covered his face, but I didn't recognize him from any photos of the Avengers. 

The masked man looked at me. “Hey...do you mind...unless you want this to look like _Hitman’s Bodyguard_ —shit, that’s not out yet. Damn this stupid time-lapse, Author!” 

I hovered over them. My lungs weren’t working. I had forgotten all common sense, all inkling of knowing. I just stood there, like an idiot. 

“Hey!” 

I spun. Another man dressed in black. I was starting to form a biased opinion about the color fabric. Finally, I had control of my limbs, and I whacked him up the side of the head with the tennis racket. 

I winced at the sound of impact. He staggered; my tennis racket was dented on the side. 

“Get him! Pretend he’s a pinata—red candy comes out when you win!” The guy in red encouraged me from behind.

That reminded me. I really missed licorice—I wished I had taken that from the pantry before I fled my apartment. It was the wrong time to think about that. 

I yelped when I hit the man a second time. He was wearing a bulky helmet, but the side looked dented and shiny now. He finally hit the ground. 

A bullet whizzed by me and buried itself into the man on the ground. A red mist crept up and stained the cement. 

“Whew,” I turned back to the man in red. He was standing now. His captor was an unmoving heap on the ground, “Talk about a morning workout. Like eighties jazzercise. Should’ve worn my spandex.” 

I was still holding the dented racket tight. I glanced around. “Did you see a cat...around here?” 

“A cat?” He looked around. “No. No pussycats here. Here, I’ll help you look, like the Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman I am—and the Author’s too lazy to write him in.”

I couldn't help the confused expression on my face. Maybe it was the stress, or adrenaline...but I didn't have a clue what he was referring to. 

I started down the road, still holding onto my tennis racket. My leg felt a little funny, but I ignored it. I looked around for a tall, handsome brunet with steel gray eyes—and the cat, of course. I didn't have much luck with either.

The stranger in red walked by my side. “The name’s Pool. Deadpool. The Readers’ favorite.” 

_Deadpool_. The one Clint mentioned in the car. From what I heard, he had mixed reviews. I didn't relax the grip on my tennis racket. 

“And you are?” He asked.

“June Jones.” 

“Wow. If you were related to Jessica Jones, that would be a wicked but predictable twist.”

“I have no idea who that is,” I said. 

“It's on Netflix—wait,” Deadpool counted on his fingers. “Dammit. 2015! I'm one year off.”

We peeked into alleyways as we walked. I held my tennis racket at the ready; it wasn't quite as intimidating as Deadpool’s guns. 

As we neared the next one, a banging noise echoed from the narrow alley. Deadpool and I exchanged a look.

“ _Mrow!”_

I knew that meow. I nodded to Deadpool, and leaned back against the cool brick wall. Deadpool held up his fingers, counting down from three—

“FREEZE, KITTYNAPPERS!” Deadpool and I stepped into the entrance of the alleyway—

I held my tennis racket to Bucky’s throat. 

Kramer meowed at me from Bucky’s arms. I think he was trying to scold me, but Bucky mostly looked relieved. 

Deadpool gasped. “It's you! Prince of Tumblr! Oh, where are my white pants when I need them?” 

Bucky tapped the tip of my tennis racket. “You still play?”

I smirked, and lowered my dented weapon. I let the racket lean back on my shoulder. Deadpool spoke before I could comment, “She’s got some arm—not like your special arm, though. Can I see it? Can I stick refrigerator magnets on it?” 

Bucky’s relief melted away, sorrowed by something in Deadpool’s words. 

“This is yours,” He held Kramer out to me.

I sniffed at the cat. “Do you mind holding him? I’m not happy with the snotface.” 

Bucky held Kramer awkwardly—his left arm was stiff. He took another step closer to me and studied my face. “Are you okay?” 

I tested my limbs, shifting each a little. I frowned when my right calf stung.

I glanced down. My jeans were stained red. “Crap.”

“Oopsies,” I looked up at Deadpool. “that was me. I skimmed you—EEEEP!”

Bucky’s arm shot out so fast I couldn't comprehend the movement until seconds after. His hand clutched Deadpool’s throat. 

“Woah, woah—okay! I'm fine, we’re all fine,” I stepped up to Bucky and I placed a light, gentle hand on his shoulder. I hoped I could distract him from Deadpool. Bucky stilled underneath my faint touch. 

“Please don't death-choke someone for me,” I pleaded. “Deadpool’s sorry. Right?”

I looked over at him. I couldn't see Deadpool’s face with the mask, but his voice sounded raspy, “I'm sorry. Very sorry. Also very turned on right now.” 

Bucky released him. Deadpool massaged the skin around his neck, breathing heavily as he was hunched over. When I came up to him, he waved me off. I found his lack of concern a little unsettling. 

“We’re not fine,” Bucky’s words were soft. 

Deadpool and I glanced up at him. His eyes were hard. “She was seen with you. Out in the open. Whoever is after you is going to come after her, too.” 

My throat closed up. My heart was beating painfully fast. 

Everyone jumped as the top of the dumpster in the alley burst open. Clint groaned as he sat up, “GOD, I HATE THESE THINGS. I THINK I LOST MY HEARING AID IN HERE SOMEWHERE...NATASHA! NATASHA! OH SHIT IT'S DEADTOOL! WHERE'S THE STUPID WHISTLE?"

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool: I finally got my cameo, Readers! Look at me go, it can't get better than this. 
> 
> Author: WHO WANTS A MUSICAL????
> 
> Deadpool: GASP. WHERE. ARE. MY. WHITE. PANTS.
> 
> Author: That's right, Awesome Adventurers! Some time soon in the next couple of chapters, we're going to have a musical number!! Yay! I already have it written up, and it was so much fun to do c: I think you're really going to like it!!
> 
> Clint Barton: I'D LIKE IT EVEN MORE IF I COULD FIND MY HEARING AIDS.
> 
> Author: I am so excited!! We'll have more soon! Love, fortune and glory to you, Awesome Adventurers!!


	6. COLD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MISSION REPORT: Remember to lock the freezer.

“Welcome to your deluxe hotel suite,” Natasha motioned around the safe house.

Bucky peered out the thick-paned windows near a desk with a computer and swore. “You didn't put us in Queens, did you, Nat?” 

The apartment was about the same size as my old home. The kitchen and the living room were meshed together into one long, stretched-out room. The furniture was plain and simple; a blue couch and accompanying armchair, wooden coffee tables. 

“Yeppers. You’re the King of Queens,” Nat mused, absently wandering around the small space. Suddenly she was at my side, “What do you think?” 

I looked around and shrugged. “It's nice. Good size, just a little...plain.” 

Natasha nodded. “Yeah. Maybe I could drag Thor here someday—he loves architecture and interior design.” 

My eyebrow rose. “Really?”

I never met the God of Thunder; I only saw his face on television and the nurses’ phone wallpapers at the hospital. He had a very grand, masculine reputation. It was a little mind-bending to imagine him liking something so ordinary. 

“I know, it's insane. He actually helped Tony model a lot of the rooms at the Tower, he's got a good eye,” Natasha replied. 

She pulled me along with her to the kitchen counter. Sam and Clint made themselves at home on the furniture. Bucky and Steve were poking the computer in the corner in a curious, cautious manner. 

In a flawless motion, Natasha removed the vanilla files from her jacket and placed them on the counter, hidden from prying eyes. “Here. I promised you; these should bring you up to speed. I pulled a couple on Deadpool, too, since you’re connected to him now.” 

Half of the vanilla folders were printed with highly classified stamps and rows of numbers. My fingers trailed underneath the bottom cover of the first folder and I peeked inside. Decoded documents and photos were in the mix.

“Thank you,” I murmured, meeting her cool gray eyes. 

She shrugged. “James has had a...tough history. You should know what you're getting yourself into. And if you ever want a break...the Avengers could always use another medical officer on call.” 

_Break?_ The realization came, quick and sudden. “I'm not bailing on him, Nat.” 

Natasha nodded and her fingers started to tapdance on the edge of the counter. “I hope not. James acts...different, when he's around you. He talks to you. He usually doesn't open up at all.”

The assassin’s face darkened, and the warm smile on her face suddenly seemed sly. “That being said...if you hurt him, June, I will kill you.”

I cut off my laugh with a snort. “Okay. Sure, be my guest.” 

Natasha seemed pleased with my answer. She cleared her throat loud enough to catch the others’ attention. Every sound that Natasha made was flawless and almost silky, even the simple guttural noise. “Alright, we should get out of your hair. Stark will be expecting us soon.”

Clint seemed relieved to go; he seemed more like a homebody anyway. I thanked him and even managed a small hug before he left. Sam winked at me on his way out the door and clapped a hand on my shoulder. 

“I'm gonna be moving to Pennsylvania soon. If you need anything, here’s my number,” Sam offered me a small slip of paper. 

I smiled, “Thanks, Sam the Man.”

“Stay safe, Junie B. Jones.” 

Steve lingered with his goodbye to Bucky; it was like two kids parting at the end of a playdate. Bucky started to sulk as soon as Steve turned away. He nodded to me politely as he left, “Ma’am.” 

Natasha was the last to leave, pulling me in for a tight embrace. I said, “Kramer’s going to miss you.”

“Oh, I’ll miss him too. Tony won't let us adopt a pet; he wants all the attention for himself,” I couldn't see Nat’s face, but I could hear the pout on her lips. 

She turned to the side, and her mouth was at my ear. “Just so you know, there’s only one bedroom.” 

She pulled away and smiled at my shocked, mortified expression. Nat wiggled her fingers as she waved goodbye, “Have fun.”

—*—

_“Do you think this story will have a happy ending?”_

_“Happy endings are just stories that haven't finished yet.”_

We watched _Mr. and Mrs. Smith_ side by side on the couch in silence. Kramer took the armchair nearby all for himself. I didn't feel like sharing the bedroom situation yet; I didn't really know what to expect there. I tried to concentrate on the movie, focusing on Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie as they discussed their marital problems in between explosions. 

“How does your leg feel?” Bucky asked.

I glanced down at my calf. I bandaged it myself; it wasn't too bad. Deadpool barely grazed me. But it hurt enough to balance a frozen bag of green beans on top. “Not too bad. The ice makes it feel better.”

Bucky bobbed his head. He’d glanced at my leg a few times now. I didn't want him to sulk; it was my fault. In a moment, too dazed by adrenaline, I decided to run out into a crowd of bullets to self-sacrifice myself for my cat. 

“I think Jane’s too cold,” I replied, hoping to distract him with the movie. I clutched one of the blue throw pillows to my chest. The ice against my leg was starting to numb my skin.

“She’s not the problem. John is too much of an asshole,” Bucky murmured as we watched. 

He turned to me. “If you were married to someone for five years—”

“Or six.”

“—or six,” He added with a faint smile, “and they turned out to be a spy...what would you do?” 

I bit my lip. I’d had some practice with the topic, but not in the way that Bucky meant. “I’ve actually been married before.” 

I was met with dead silence. The movie filled the void. I peeked over at Bucky’s still, unmoving features. 

“You...you were?” 

_Crap._ I immediately regretted sharing the secret. “Yeah...twice, actually. I moved into my old apartment after the last divorce.” 

Bucky’s voice had more emotion than it usually did. “Was it the same person…?”

“No. Two different people. The first one lasted two years, the last one lasted four. They just...didn't work out.” 

“Oh.”

More silence.

“What are their names and social security numbers?” 

I smirked and tossed my pillow his way. “You’re not going to kill them—I haven't heard from either of them, thank God. Old history.” 

Bucky scratched the back of his head, “Back then, before...everything, it was very rare to meet someone who had been married twice.” 

I grimaced. I didn't really like what my past represented. One divorce? That was life. But two…? That was a pattern. I really sucked when it came to love. 

I casted a look over at him. Bucky was bathed in a golden-silvery glow, half from the television, half from the lamps on. Part of me didn't want to know the answer to my next question, but I had to take the attention away from my crappy love life. It seemed twice as uncomfortable to speak of now, in front of Bucky. “Did you...see a lot of people, or…?”

“A few. But watching over Steve was a time-consuming job; I’d have to check alleyways and dumpsters a few times a day for the punk, make sure he wasn't dead in a ditch somewhere,” Bucky remarked.

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. “What?” Bucky noticed. 

“Nothing, it's just...that's really sweet. That you look out for him,” I said, suddenly taking an interest in my fingers. “You’re a caring person.” 

Bucky seemed shocked by my deduction. His eyes popped out of their sockets. I turned back to the movie, curling my feet up on the couch as I leaned back into the pillows.

“Caring enough to let you take the bedroom that Nat stuck us with.” 

My head snapped back to him. I was already shaking my head. “No way. I'm not kicking you out—”

“I ruined your life; you get the bedroom. End of story.” Bucky said. 

“ _No_. You and I are equals, and we’re taking turns,” I remarked, motioning between the two of us. “End of story.” 

Bucky wouldn't let it go. “I don't mind the couch—I get full access to the tube! The kitchen’s right there! If anything, I'm getting the better end of the deal.”

My eyes widened at him in disbelief. How was it possible for such a humble human being to exist? Bucky’s selflessness was nearing unhealthy. 

“Kramer will keep you up all night,” I complained. “He likes to run around the apartment. He gets into things—one time, I found him in the freezer. The door was sealed shut the night before, I swear to God!”

“Please take the bedroom—at least for tonight,” Bucky pleaded, past the point of any ordinary, sane argument. “You’re not used to all of this. Give yourself a break.” 

I made a face at him. It was true; I hadn't fully been able to calm down. I felt exhausted, like I hadn't slept in days—and that was the case, for the most part. I was sure I smelled terrible, too, and was in desperate need of a shower. 

I gave in, for now. “Fine. Just for tonight. But I will not let you be the underdog forever, Mr. Barnes.”

“Yes, Ms. Jones.”

The debate bothered me for the rest of the night, until I was under the covers. I wondered about Bucky in the other room, why he pleaded so badly to stay in the living room. Then it finally hit me. 

He considered himself the first line of defense.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor: Loki's rival in literature!
> 
> Author: Thor! You cutie you c: what's up, energizer bunny of doom?
> 
> Thor: I was just wondering, why the Soldier of Winter gets his love interest all to himself, meanwhile, in my story, the love of my life is betrothed to an elven princess—
> 
> Peter Quill: And your girlfriend totally has the hots for me ;D
> 
> Thor: And I have to deal with. . .that.
> 
> Author: Poor Thor, stuck with stupid love triangles. Don't worry, you won't suffer alone—Wanda might join a love triangle later on in Bucky's story.
> 
> Wanda & Bucky & June: WHAT
> 
> Thor: Oh. How terrible :D
> 
> Sam Wilson: What about me? I have potential! C'mon, let me be the Thor to Bucky's Quill, Author! 
> 
> Author: Sam, if you had any romantic involvement in any story, there would be no love triangle—who can compete with those bird calls, and those Marvin Gaye albums?
> 
> Bucky Barnes: Ew. 
> 
> Wanda Maximoff: Can we circle back to what you said before? About me suddenly dating the elderly? 
> 
> Scott Lang: You date Vision and he's practically a baby. You take on age differences like a champ, Wanton. 
> 
> Author: I've played with the idea of adding Wanda in as a love-triangle thing, but I wouldn't introduce that in this novel—that is strictly sequel-related. Assuming you guys would like a sequel? 
> 
> Deadpool: WAIT! I FOUND THE AUTHOR'S NOTES! I FOUND THE ENDING TO THIS BOOK! IT'S—
> 
> *Author kills Deadpool. Peter Parker cries*
> 
> Author: Ahem...love, fortune and glory to you, Awesome Adventurers?


	7. IDENTITY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MISSION REPORT: Be cautious of neighbors.

I was pretty sure I was in hell. 

It seemed so easy, at first. Lay low, stay unnoticed. Simple. Maybe it was at first. But slowly, the claustrophobia ate at me little by little. The “on edge” feeling just wouldn't go away. I didn't know if it was staying cooped up in the same apartment for days, or windows that I wasn't allowed to open, or the hysteria that there was someone out there, waiting to kill me. 

I pitied Bucky for having to deal with me. I tried to smile or at least seem somewhat content, for his sake. I found my solace in the backroom, that had a bunch of gym equipment. I took my anger out on the treadmill, but there was only so much I could do with my healing leg. I played with Kramer too, who was more than pleased with the extra attention. But they were all temporary fixes. 

Eventually my nerves were so shot that there was a knock at the door, and I was the one that answered. I undid the three bolts and peeked through the crack that the golden chain at the top allowed. 

A teenager turned pale at the sight of me. “H-hi, miss. I'm Peter Parker. I'm your neighbor, next door.” 

Bucky heard the door open and walked into the living room with a knife. I smiled at the kid, meanwhile, behind the door, I waved dramatically at Bucky to hide the weapon. 

“Hi, sweetie. I'm June, hold on a second.” I closed the door again and took away the golden chain. Bucky appeared at my side. 

“June, it's safer for you if I answer,” Bucky replied. 

“He's just a kid—he had a gift basket!” I hissed. 

“It could be a bomb.”

“Or it could be a blueberry muffin. It's time to roll the dice.”

I opened the door, and we were all smiles. Peter gave us a weird look for our demeanor. He was actually a cute kid, with brown hair the same shade as Bucky’s and matching amber eyes. He would definitely be a heartthrob to men and women everywhere someday.

“My Aunt May made this,” Peter’s voice was suddenly high and had a slightly creeped-out tinge to it. He thrust out a woven basket. Bucky took the package. 

“They smell delicious, thank you so much,” I glanced around our apartment wildly to give the wide-eyed teenager something in return. “Hold on one sec.” 

I shut the door in Peter’s poor face again and limped to the kitchen. Bucky wandered to the other side of the room with the gift basket. I was too busy shifting through drawers that I had already rearranged five times in my cooped-up hysteria, until I came upon something gift-worthy. 

“Here,” I opened the door again to face Mr. Parker, presenting him with an unopened bottle of Peptobismol. “Kids love this stuff, it tastes yummy and it's a bright color—just don’t drink too much. It can kill you,” 

Peter’s face had taken on a slightly deranged look, like he was speaking to someone from an asylum. Hesitantly, he accepted the pink bottle. “Er, thanks, Ms. June.” 

“Peter!” A female voice carried down the corridor.

Peter turned around, relieved. “Hey, Aunt May!” 

‘Aunt May’ skipped down the hallway with high-rise blue jeans and a flowery top. Her cheery smile and liveliness left me speechless for a split second.

“Hi, I’m May,” She reached out to shake my hand.

“I-I’m June,” I answered as old social instincts kicked in, and my smile righted itself. 

“Well no wonder we’re neighbors; can’t split up those two months, huh?” Peter’s Aunt May laughed. “It's so nice to finally meet you, June. We saw you come in with that crowd of people, but we didn't know if we could catch you and introduce ourselves or if we should come over and say hi—oh!” 

Something brushed against my back. I glanced behind me, and Bucky was there, looming over me. He always wore long sleeves, even to the extreme of gloves in the apartment. It was December, but the heater worked. 

He studied the aunt with her nephew warily. 

“This is Bucky,” I introduced him. His arm wrapped around the front of me protectively, but under May’s quizzical gaze, I felt my cheeks heat up.

“Aw, you two look so cute together,” May mused as she gazed at us. “Did you two just move in together, or…?”

“We’re married.”

The two words came from Bucky’s mouth. 

My eyes widened. I strained to keep the friendly smile on my face, backing up slightly into our apartment. “Hold on just one second, please.” 

I softly shut the door. Then I turned to Bucky with the most incredulous look. 

“Where did _that_ come from?’ I snapped.

“Sorry—it just slipped out! When a man and a woman are alone together, that usually means they’re married!” Bucky pulled at his hair and banged his head against the nearby wall a few times. 

“Not in this century!” I squeaked. 

“I'm not from this century! I'm sorry.” 

I opened the door again and hoped my facial expression wasn't too alarming. Aunt May beamed at us, “That explains why you’ve spent _so_ much time indoors. I hope you enjoy the glow of newly weds!”

I took a leap and snaked my arm around Bucky’s waist. He stilled beside me, unsure what to do. “Oh, we will.” 

“Bye!” Aunt May waved while Peter appeared scarred for life next to her. I shut the door, and we leaned against it together. I didn't know what to say.

“What was that kid doing with a bottle of pepto?” Bucky wondered out loud. 

I groaned and covered my face with my hands. “That was me—I had to give him something for the gift basket. I'm sorry, I think staying in this apartment is killing me on the inside.” 

“You’re not the only one.” 

We retreated from the door. I started to look at the gift basket the Parkers gave us in the kitchen. Bucky sat across from me on one of the stools. 

“I heard from Nat. ‘Said she might drop by soon,” Bucky said, watching my face for a reaction.

That was good news. Natasha and the others said they would visit, giving me some interaction with the outside world. I managed a smile. “Great, I miss her.” 

The mention of Nat’s name suddenly reminded me of her gift; the files. I hadn't looked at them yet. I didn't want to read them with Bucky around; it felt like I was intruding on his life. But there was still so much I didn't know about him...and now we were sharing an apartment together. It was hard enough to stay put here, but this invisible distance between us didn't help. 

It was December, so the gift basket filled the room with the scent of cinnamon and gingerbread. There were boxes of hot chocolate mix, marshmallows, and festive cookies. My fingers brushed against the rim of the basket, lined with mistletoe. 

“They seem nice,” I mumbled. I opened one of the boxes of cookies and offered them to Bucky. He started crunching and his eyes lit up. It was adorable to watch.

He reached for the box, “Maybe I should eat a few more of these, just to make sure they aren't poisoned…”

I smirked and didn't object. “Uhuh.”

“Isn't it a weird setup, though?” Bucky wondered out loud. “The aunt and the nephew living together. What about the parents? And the uncle?” 

I shrugged. “That's the twenty-first century for you.”

“I still think there’s a story there.” 

“Probably. You wanna spy on them?” 

Bucky paused in his cookie-purge. “Why would we spy on them?”

“I dunno. I'm bored, you’re overly cautious, and we’re both tired of reruns,” I said. I tried one of the cookies. I nearly moaned out loud when I tried them. I forgot what real food tasted like, not all of the cans and boxed-up junk packed in the safe house. It was fresh and crisp, and the ginger flavor popped in my mouth like bubbles on my tongue. 

“Fair enough. Operation: spy on the neighbors,” Bucky replied. 

“Maybe you can teach me cool spy stuff.” 

“It's a date.” 

We paused. Bucky frowned. I was sure he was regretting half the things he said with his mouth today. It just made me feel...light. Kind of tingly. 

“Do you mind if I take a nap beforehand?” I asked, ignoring the quiet that set in. I stood up straighter, remembering where I stowed the vanilla files on one of the bookshelves. 

“No, not at all.” Bucky replied. 

I nodded, and started off towards the other room. It was time for my own spy mission. Operation: learn the true identity of Bucky Barnes.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel Universe: GASP. 
> 
> Peter Parker: Author, you killed Deadpool!!
> 
> Jennifer Walters: Actually, a long time ago, Deadpool killed Author and took over one of her stories, so...
> 
> Peter Parker: Wait, he really did that? Who are you?
> 
> Jennifer Walters: Author's muscle. Also part time lawyer. Sup?
> 
> Peter Parker: Uh...
> 
> *a crack forms in the universe*
> 
> Deadpool, alive and kicking: I LIVEEEEEE
> 
> Scott Lang, dropping a bowl of popcorn: HOLY MOTHER OF GOD
> 
> Author: Wade.
> 
> Deadpool: Author. 
> 
> Author: You cannot spoil the story for the readers. 
> 
> Deadpool: But it's such a good twist! Oh please please please!
> 
> Author: No!
> 
> Deadpool: Deadpool yes!
> 
> Author: Deadpool no!
> 
> Deadpool: You killed me! I thought you were my friend :c
> 
> Author: Don't give me those puppy eyes hidden by that mask! YOU killed ME a couple of fanfics ago, and took over the entire novel—the chapter titles were grotesque.
> 
> Deadpool: To be fair, I was doing the universe a favor, Author. That was your Doctor Who/Catwoman/Marvel crossover novel.
> 
> Author: True, that deserved to die. BUT I DIDN'T!! Wade, no spoiling the book for the readers! Or there will be consequences!!
> 
> Jennifer Walters: LEGAL consequences!!
> 
> Stephen Strange: COSMIC consequences!!
> 
> Deadpool: Fine...(Don't worry, readers, we'll get to the bottom of this)
> 
> Author: Love, fortune and glory to you, Awesome Adventurers!! (No you won't)


	8. SNAP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MISSION REPORT: Keep informed. Always.

I sat on the center of the bed, Kramer purring at my side. The vanilla files were spread out before me. I bit my lip as I contemplated which one to start with. 

I found one with Bucky’s name on it. There were other lines scribbled across the folder—something in another language. Russian, maybe? I knew a little bit of german, but none of the scripture looked familiar. 

I sighed, feeling the sudden tension in my body as I flipped open the cover. I shoved down the unease and started skimming. 

As I slowly turned page after page, I thought of my old theories about Bucky’s past. Some parts were close, but for the most part, I was wildly off. I would've never guessed this. 

I stared at the pictures for a long time. 

_“...I’ve done some things, that I didn't want to do, for some horrible people…”_

Natasha had notes and translations scribbled on the side. She tried to track him down. Couldn't find him. He was a ghost. A ghost...a silent, tortured enigma of the supernatural. Haunted, by pain and suffering. Powerless…

_“I...did things for them. But that wasn't me—I didn't have a choice.”_

Sometimes I had to look up, take a deep breath. Absorb all of the information. The pictures were the most bizarre. I saw it...his left arm...it finally made sense. 

“June?” 

The knock on the door made me jump. Kramer was rolling around on the files I hadn't gotten to yet. I shook my head at the cat, slowly tugging the files out from under him. I gathered all of the folders up and stashed them somewhere. “Coming,” 

When I opened the door, Bucky was there, playing with his gloved fingers as he studied me. It felt weird, looking at him after all of the reading. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you,” He said. “Are you alright? You’ve been in there for a while.”

I bit my lip. “No, I'm fine. I read a little bit…”

“Oh.” 

I bit my lip. “...You...you don't have to keep wearing long sleeves...or gloves…”

I heard his sharp intake of breath. His gray eyes wouldn't meet mine. Those two orbs looked like they were forged from steel, but they didn't look hard. They were...frenzied, darting back and forth. Like choppy waves, swirling, tumbling… 

We stood in silence for what felt like hours. 

“...I’m sorry.” I finally blurted. “It's not my business...but we’re stuck together, a-and I thought it would be better…”

“No, Natasha was right. You deserve to know,” Bucky’s voice was different. More cold. Hesitant. Like when I first met him. “I should’ve told you, but I thought I could...protect you, by not saying anything.” 

“I’ll admit, it's a lot,” I tugged at my hair. Vulnerability was thick in the air. It was hard not to choke on it. “All of this is new to me, anyway, but...the last thing you need to protect me from is _you_.” 

Bucky shook his head, and his lips parted slightly, but no response came. I cursed myself inwardly. 

_Dammit. I can still see the guilt in his eyes...will it ever go away?_

“Do we still want to watch the kid?” I asked, offering a detour from this subject. “Or did I ruin the mood?” 

To my shock, one of Bucky’s small smiles returned. “You know...it actually feels better. That you know everything.” 

I nodded. “It does make things easier.” 

I went to the nearby windowsill and picked up the binoculars. “You still up for a little bit of recon?”

Bucky’s eyebrow rose. He walked over and joined me near the window, “How about we make this a little interesting?”

I smirked, “What did you have in mind?” 

“ ‘Bet five cookies that Parker-kid is doing homework.”

“No dice. That's like a given, look at him. Um,” I bit my lip, thinking about the kid I met earlier today. “I bet three cookies that...he helps his aunt cook dinner.”

“I’ll take that bet,” We shook on it. When his gloved fingers clasped mine, I glanced up at him. 

“If the gloves are uncomfortable…”

Bucky shrugged. “We’re on a mission. I’ll keep ‘em on for now.”

I shook my head at him. “I'm living with Elsa...” 

—*—

I hated Peter Parker that night. I lost the first three cookies to Bucky when they decided to go out to dinner, and another two when Parker picked a juice box over a soda. But the rest of the night seemed to be more...at ease. Like a splinter had finally been plucked from a wound, and things were starting to heal. 

I got up a little earlier the next morning, intent on visiting our little workout room. I cast a glance out at the living room as I crossed into the bathroom to change—

I stopped. 

Bucky’s back was to me, whistling old show tunes that I couldn't identify. He was making a cup of coffee, I think. I didn't really pay attention to anything else. Bucky’s tank top left both arms on display. 

He turned with the coffee cup in his right hand and saw me. His reaction was immediate. “Oh.” 

I studied his left arm across the room. I’d seen the pictures in Nat’s files, so I shouldn't have been so shocked. I’d worked in the medical department for years, too. Prosthetic limbs were a normal thing in my world. 

“Sorry,” I blinked. I tore my eyes away from the rivulettes of metal. Even with the short distance between us, there was so much intricate detail to it. No wonder it seemed so lifelike underneath the layers. 

Bucky assessed my face carefully. “Too much?” 

“No. Actually,” I crossed into the threshold of the kitchen for a better look. There was a dullness to the metal. It didn't glitter in the light, it _gleamed_. The gray matched his eyes. “It's kind of fascinating.” 

Bucky snorted. “What concerns you is truly fascinating, like dental hygiene.” 

“I'm serious,” I took a step closer, studying the anatomy of it. “I mean, from a medical perspective, this is just wicked.” 

I was at least a foot away from him now. I was still in my old sweats that I slept in. I lifted a hesitant finger, “Can I…?”

Bucky huffed. “As long as you promise not to have nightmares because of it.”

“Oh, please. I’ve seen much scarier things, like the progression of Bruce Willis losing his hair,” I muttered, peering close at his left arm. 

The metal was cool to the touch. It had a smooth texture. Bucky was very still as my fingers traced. I felt scratches in the metal that were too faint to catch with my eye.

I glanced up at him. “Wow, this is just...woah. I'm not freaking you out, am I?” 

“A little,” Bucky admitted, “but it's not you. It's more...it’s memory.” 

I bit my lip. I was gentle as I slowly trailed up his arm. I frowned at the scarred, pink tissue between the metal and his normal-toned skin. There were deep, painful patterns of gashes. But it didn't seem enforced like normal wounds.

Without touching, my fingers hovered just above the scars. Fingers matched the trails they made. 

“Does it hurt?” I murmured. 

“Sometimes. When I move it too much, the part of my shoulder feels like it's pulling at the skin,” Bucky stopped abruptly. 

I must’ve been getting on his nerves. My fingers curled back to my palms. I took my hands away, even took a gentle step back. “Sorry.” 

On a scientific level, the arm was impressive. It imitated bodily behavior much more accurately than the mere puppet-like parts everyone else used. There was a uniqueness to the design, fit perfectly to his physique. 

“Err, thanks,” I said awkwardly. “for letting me…”

Bucky nodded. Again, we stood without words. It was hard to use language to describe it. This was on another level…

“Can I ask a question?” I tried to look innocent. 

“What is it?” 

“...What’s it sound like when you snap your fingers?” 

Bucky paused. He held up his left hand, positioned his fingers.

 _Plink_. A sharp metallic noise followed, like metal bouncing off of metal. 

“Huh,” Bucky was staring at it, too.

“...Am I allowed to say that's pretty cool?” I asked.

He smiled. “Yeah...you’re right.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author: Is everyone still scarred for life by snapping?
> 
> Scott Lang: I can't watch West Side Story anymore. 
> 
> Peter Quill: I heard the beginning of the song "Killer Queen" the other day and I cried myself to sleep :c
> 
> Wanda Maximoff: All because of that stupid panini-chin.
> 
> Peter Quill: The scrotum-chin.
> 
> Scott Lang: The purple eggplant. 
> 
> Bucky Barnes: That one bad plum. 
> 
> Author: 
> 
> Author: I don't know whether to fall down laughing or crying. 
> 
> Shuri: Or you could do both in a mix of mass hysteria? 
> 
> Author: I suppose, Wade's an expert on that. Love fortune and glory to you, Awesome Adventurers!!
> 
> Deadpool: OH, IT'S ON. IT'S ON LIKE DONKEY KONG


End file.
